Chapter Twenty-One Si
Present day
Saturday morning they both got up late, as Si wasn’t working this weekend and Zig wasn’t due in until six.
Si had made cocoa when they’d got back from the pub, to warm up from the chilly walk home.
It’d been nice. Zig had sat close to him on the sofa, their shoulders and thighs touching, but he hadn’t tried it on or made any flirty suggestions.
He’d acted like a mate. That’d been a relief, what with Si newly determined not to get involved. Definitely.
All right, it’d been a bit of a disappointment too, but that was hearts for you, wasn’t it? Never on the same page as your brain. Si had gone to bed after they’d finished their cocoa, and Zig had settled down on the sofa, and that had been that.
So what if he’d maybe dreamed about Zig? Dreamed about holding him. Kissing him. Doing more, too, like they had back in London all them years ago.
Subconsciouses were tricky buggers. Everyone knew that. Si had had dreams about walking in the dragon procession stark-bollock-naked, but it didn’t mean it was something he actually wanted to do.
Si shook off the dreams with the duvet and padded into the kitchen to boil the kettle sometime after ten.
He brought Zig a mug of tea and sat next to him on the sofa, hoping to rekindle the easy atmosphere of the previous night.
“Fancy a proper breakfast today? There’s eggs and bacon in the fridge. ”
Zig stretched and, in the process, moved a couple of inches away. When he took the mug Si held out to him, he shifted over farther. Si’s chest hurt. He told it not to be a daft bastard.
“Cheers. Whatever you’re having.” Zig’s voice was flat. He seemed to notice, cos he roused himself to give one of them easy smiles he was always flashing around. “Appreciate it.”
Si hated those smiles. There was nothing behind them except Zig wanting to make everyone like him. As if he was worried what might happen if they didn’t. “You’ll be washing up after, mind,” he said. “And that pan’s a bugger to get egg off of.”
Zig let out a startled laugh, and this time, the joy on his face was real. Si basked in it.
“Gonna make me work for me keep, are you? Fair enough.” Zig paused. “Listen, I’m earning now, so I’ll chip in, yeah?”
“Ain’t got paid yet, though, have you? Talk to me again after you get your first wage packet.”
“Don’t wanna be a parasite.”
Zig’s face had fallen, and Si thought brief uncharitable thoughts about Sasha for her words last night. “You’re a mate, not a flea or a tick or a bloody headlouse. I ain’t so hard up I can’t feed you for a few days.” He sent Zig an encouraging grin.
Zig nodded and sort of shrugged. “Maybe I could take you out after I get paid? Buy you dinner. Say thanks, you know?”
“You don’t have to do that,” Si said, touched.
“Maybe I wanna.”
And there was nothing Si could say to that except, “Well, all right, then.”
They’d just finished eating their breakfast when Zig looked up, head cocked. “That your phone?”
It was. Si put down his fork and headed back into the bedroom, where he’d left his phone on charge, but Sod’s law, it had stopped ringing by the time he got there.
He unplugged it and carried it back into the living room.
“Huh. Mum. Better call her back. You know what mums are . . . Shit.” He gave himself a hefty mental kick up the arse.
Zig’s mum was dead. Si had known that almost as long as he’d known Zig.
“Sorry. Forgot for a mo. Didn’t mean to be a bastard. ”
Zig sent him a weird, intent look, then got up jerkily from the sofa and went to stare out of the window. “I tracked her down,” he said.
“You what?” Si asked, confused.
“My mum. After you left London.”
Si’s forehead creased up so much it was gonna give him a headache. “But you said—”
“Told you she died when I was four, didn’t I? Hah. Guess what? I lied. She left us.”
There was a stab of hurt, which melted into worry when Si realised how Zig was standing. He was rigid, hunched over, and somehow brittle. “’S okay. That’s gotta . . . I mean, I can get it’s not something you’d wanna talk about.”
“It was in the summer sometime.” Zig’s voice sounded remote. “She took me round the neighbours’ to play in their garden, then buggered off and never came back. Dad was well pissed off.”
Fucking hell. Si got up, trying to make some noise about it, like Zig was a cat fresh from the shelter who’d bolt if he was spooked.
He stepped over to Zig and placed a hand on his shoulder for a mo.
This was all right, wasn’t it? Mates touched, didn’t they?
And hugged, come to that, and gods, if he’d ever seen anyone in need of a hug, it was Zig right now.
Si gently slid his arms around Zig’s waist.
Zig started, then relaxed into his hold. “Don’t you ever get mad about anything?”
“You ain’t been living here long. Just wait till you leave the top off the toothpaste.” Si went on, “What happened, then? You and your mum, when you tracked her down?”
“She was a hairdresser. Still is, I s’pose.
Maybe? I dunno. It’s been years. That’s how I found her, asking around people in the trade.
She was working in this posh salon in the West End, the sort where it costs you a fucking kidney for a dye job.
Had a fake posh accent to go with it and all.
Still pretty.” Zig’s voice faltered. “I reckon Dad knew where she was. Always had.”
“He never told you?”
“It was more like, ‘You go whining about your mum again and I’ll give you something to fucking cry about.’” Zig’s voice was under control again, like he was talking about the bloody weather, but his body had gone all tense.
Si squeezed him tighter. “But you found her?” he prompted.
“Yeah.”
He didn’t say more, but Si was sure in his gut Zig wanted to. He’d never have brought the subject up if he didn’t. All he needed was a bit of help. “What happened?” Si asked gently.
“She said she had a new life. A new bloke, who didn’t have her looking over her shoulder all the time.” Zig barked out a bitter laugh. “Fair enough, that was. She . . .” He drew in a breath. “She said she didn’t have nothing for me. Told me to go back to me dad.”
“Fucking hell.” It burst out; Si couldn’t stop it. If this had been soon after Si left London, Zig would’ve still been in his teens. A kid.
Like he’d been when they’d split up. A kid, still believing what his dad told him.
Still trying to please his dad, and gods knew, that couldn’t have been easy, from what Si had heard about the bastard and his digs about Zig’s sexuality.
Bloody hell, was his dad the reason for Zig always being down on himself?
A pang of sorrow shot through Si for the kid Zig had been, all them years ago. It felt natural to drop a kiss on Zig’s shoulder, so he did.
Then he tensed, cos what might Zig think about that?
But Zig leaned back against him and put his hands on Si’s where they lay around his waist, so that was okay.
“Guess I know how to get you to kiss me now. Tell you about my shit life.” He looked back over his shoulder and flashed that cocky smile of his that could charm the pants off a bloody stone statue.
Suddenly awkward, Si let his arms fall and took a step back. Then he pulled himself together. This wasn’t about him, was it? “You can tell me anything,” he said sincerely.
Zig’s smile froze. “Anything?” His voice was no more than a whisper.